


A Promise to Keep

by Maya_Koppori



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Explicit Language, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6511741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maya_Koppori/pseuds/Maya_Koppori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack can put up with just about anything when it's at his expense. But threaten someone he cares about and you're gonna have a bad time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise to Keep

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a fantastic post by starringmeacomplicatedlovestory.tumblr.com, who was generous enough to let me expand upon it here! Link to the original post is further down.
> 
> I didn't want to bring any actual hockey teams or players into this, so I completely made up these names. I suppose I could have avoided naming names altogether, but that makes narration difficult. Checkers, Sonny, Ricky, and Ensy are also made up people who ease narration. (Maybe Johnson has had a point this whole time *mind blown*)

Somehow, it always surprises him.

Jack went into this fully briefed on the tendencies of the public, on homophobia in sports, on the full consequences of his actions. Before he and Bitty made the official statement and came out to the world, the Falconers’ PR team had insisted they let Georgia give them a crash course on how to deal with and deflect unwanted attention. It had been easy enough, Jack supposes. He’s had cameras on him since the day he was born, and Bitty isn’t an internet personality for nothing. They’re ready for it when it happens, and they deal with it together, heads held high.

Still, the real world is one thing. There are always going to be people who want a piece of the drama, who have such strong opinions that they simply can’t find it in them to ‘stay in their own goddamned lanes,’ as Shitty once put it.

The hockey world is entirely another. As much hurt as Jack has associated with it, the ice is his home. It’s by no means a safe haven, but things always make sense when he’s got his skates strapped on and a stick in his hand. And the Falconers have been great to him- to both of them really. The team was determined to do right by them, and welcomed Bitty into the fold with open arms. If Jack was at all worried (What if they say something awful? What if they _do_ something awful? What if Bitty doesn’t like them?) then the beaming smile his boyfriend left the rink with that first day put all his fears to rest, as did the team’s continued vocal approval of his pies.

That’s the world he wants to be in, where people are trying hard and Ensy makes gross sounds when he thinks about Bitty’s cooking and Bitty sits in the stands at every game he can make it down for and everything is fine.

But that’s not how it always goes. The Falconers may be better and nicer about their relationship than Jack could have ever dreamed, but the fact still stands that most people aren’t.

The first time he gets called a ‘fag’ on the ice isn’t really the first time. It’s a common enough slur in the hockey world, but this home game against the Slickers is the first time someone has called him that since he actually came out. He almost doesn’t even hear it, ears ringing from a hard check as he struggles to catch his breath on the ice. But the defenseman who nailed him is standing above him, obviously smirking behind his helmet, and Jack’s pretty good at reading lips. And it shocks him to his core, and he can’t figure out why. So he stands up and doesn’t even look at him, but is very touched when Checkers plows into the Slicker later. ‘Got your back’ may be a Samwell phrase, but it extends far beyond.

“Do you know how many people have called me that before?” He asks Bitty later as he’s trying to explain. “It just never really… Mattered, I guess, because I knew they had no reason to say that. That they didn’t… Mean it?” He trails off, losing his train of thought.

And Bitty sighs, leaves off whatever he’s doing with his mixing bowl and hugs Jack hard around the middle. Jack leans back into his kitchen counter and lets it hold them both, just feeling Bitty in his arms for a moment.

“They’re trying to hurt you,” Bitty says softly, fingers curled loosely in Jack’s shirt. “Before, it was just something they’d say to anyone. Now that they know, they’re doing it on purpose.” It’s nearly textbook from what Georgia taught them, Jack knows, but hearing Bitty say it out loud like that makes his chest so tight it hurts. “Jack, I’m sorry. Maybe- maybe we shouldn’t’ve-”

“Hey.” Jack pushes Bitty back slightly and takes his chin in his hand, forcing him to look up at him. “Don’t. Don’t ever doubt what we’ve done- what we are. I want this too. We decided to come out together, and I don’t regret it. Do you?”

Bitty flushes and tries to duck his head, but Jack follows, bumping his nose against Bitty’s jaw and bending to look him in the eye. “Jack-”

“Do you?”

“No, you silly boy,” Bitty huffs, but he smiles and stands on his tiptoes to drop a kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Just promise me you won’t get yourself into any trouble over it. Let the refs and PR people take care of it.”

Jack smiles and returns Bitty’s kiss. It’s as good as any promise.

Keeping that promise, however… It’s difficult.

“Come on!” Sonny screams at the referee from across the ice. “I know you heard that!”

Half the stadium is in outrage, howling and pointing up to the big screen as it replays the last thirty seconds. Jack tries to watch, but someone is wiping blood off of his face with a towel and he misses the part where one of the Typhoons knocked his helmet clean off with his stick. That in itself constitutes a double minor, but that’s not what the crowd is going mad over.

Jack watches from the bench as the replay zooms in on the other guy, and even without sound it’s easy for anyone watching to read the words he’s shouting at Jack. He feels his face burn and it takes everything in him not to turn around. His parents are at this game. _Bitty_ is at this game. They all saw what happened, and they all know what that other player called Jack. _He wouldn’t say those words in front of his mother for a million dollars._

“Double minor,” the ref announces. “No misconduct.”

The offender doesn’t seem to hear the curses being launched at him. He smirks and glides over to the penalty box to serve his four minutes.

They win, but Jack doesn’t feel good about it.

His mother, unsurprisingly, is livid. As they walk out to the car together after the presser, she’s fussing over him in a way that benefits her more than him, so he bears with it. “How was that not misconduct? Forget that- how was that not a _match penalty?_ You don’t just take someone’s _helmet_ off without _obvious intent,_ and-!”

“Alicia,” his dad tries to say. “Jack was behind him, there was no way he could have-”

“That high sticking was an abomination! Even if it _was_ an accident, which it _wasn’t,_ his stick shouldn’t have gone anywhere near Jack’s head!”

“Maman, it’s fine,” Jack says. He shoves his hands in his jacket pocket and stares at the ground. “He got the penalty, and we won. It’s fine.”

His mother growls low under her breath and glares at her husband. “I don’t know where he got this level-headedness from, but it certainly wasn’t from me and I _know_ you would've had your gloves off in half a second if that happened to you.” But she drops it.

Jack’s dad claps a hand on his shoulder, and it helps, somehow, to know that he did the right thing. If Bad Bob Zimmermann wouldn't have tossed his gloves, then neither would Jack. And when they get to the car and Bitty is there waiting for them, looking concerned but also relieved, Jack is happy he kept his promise. He can take a few harsh words if it keeps his family happy.

That night is a quiet one. After dinner with his parents, Jack drives himself and Bitty back to his apartment. It’s a Saturday, and they don’t have anything to do the next day, but they still go to bed early. They lay for a while, talking softly, and Bitty won’t stop smoothing Jack’s hair away from the butterfly bandage on his forehead and kissing it gently, but Jack is far from complaining. He holds Bitty just a little tighter that night, and Bitty holds him right back.

The season goes on. The words and the hateful glances don’t go away, but they do get easier to deal with. Jack maintains his reputation of getting into the least fights (there’s only one, really, and that’s nothing compared to what Ricky does to the guy later in the third.) They’re on a roadie, this one on Valentine’s Day, and Jack is nothing short of delighted that Bitty was able to tag along with the team. There’s chirping, sure, but the standard kind of chirping any of the team gets when they’re around their significant others. It’s light and nice and mainly for Bitty’s benefit, making him laugh and blush and the team agrees that they have to win against the Clovers so they don’t ruin Bitty and Jack’s Valentine's Day.

Jack tries not to think about that while he’s on the ice. He’s supposed to be focusing, but it’s hard with Bitty right there in the stands, wearing a Falconer's jersey with Jack’s name on it. It brings up too many thoughts of The Future. And while that's never a bad topic to think about, it can get wonderfully distracting if he's not careful.

He doesn’t let it negatively impact his playing, but Jack must be more obvious in his wistful glances than he thinks he is because at the next faceoff, the Clovers player across from him follows his eyes and smirks. “I’d wish you a happy V-Day, Zimms, but actually? It’s not a real one for you, is it?”

Jack bristles, but bites his tongue. He takes control of the puck and gameplay continues. He makes a pointed effort not to look at Bitty anymore, however much he might want to. But ignoring that Clover seems to have been a bad decision. Every time he comes near Jack on the ice he says something else, anything he can think of to try and make Jack react. And he’s getting dangerously close to getting his wish.

“How does your team even deal with you in the locker room?”

“I guess all those rumors about the puck bunnies weren’t true- or were they just gay puck bunnies?”

“Does anyone even room with you on roadies anymore?”

“Ouch, that hurts. Would you be ignoring me if I was as pretty as that guy wearing your number?”

It’s all standard, run of the mill stupid chirping. Jack counts backwards from ten and breathes slowly as the period nears its end. The Falconers are up three to one, and there’s only one period left before he can leave this guy behind, hopefully for good.

There’s a slight pause in gameplay. Jack can’t see what happened to that particular patch of ice, and he doesn’t care. He skates away toward the edge of the ice while the crew hurries to fix the problem and get the game back in gear.

“That asshole Williams won't get off your back,” Ricky comments, jerking his head at the player in question. “What's his deal?”

“Don't know,” Jack grunts. His eyes flick automatically to Bitty, who waves down from behind the glass with an encouraging smile. Jack and Ricky wave back and the crowd cheers.

“Zimmermann!” A voice calls, and Jack turns back toward the ice. It's that same guy, back for more, and Jack feels Ricky tense beside him. He puts a hand on his arm, shaking his head before facing off.

“What do you want?” Jack says evenly, and even though he can't quite see him, he can feel the tension rolling off of Bitty up in the stands. _“Promise me.”_

Williams slings his stick across his shoulder, smirking. His eyes flit up only for a moment before they're back to Jack and Ricky. “I'll admit, Zimms- I'm impressed. Most guys would've blackened my eyes half a period ago.”

Jack doesn't know how to respond to that, so he just nods. Maybe Williams was just gunning for a fight earlier, to let off steam or something. He can understand that, he really can, even if he doesn't share the sentiment. But as long as he's done with all of the stupid chirps-

“Must be your new mascot’s influence,” Williams carries on without batting an eye. “He looks like he's fucking twelve, but he's more likely to duke it out than you pussies. Guess _taking it_ just comes naturally now, huh?”

“Now look, Williams, that's a load of shit and you know it!” Ricky recovers a beat before Jack does and lunges forward, but again Jack holds him back. Ricky looks at him incredulously. “Jack, come on, he's-!”

“Talking out of his ass,” Jack finishes. “I've heard worse, Rick. It doesn't bother me. Really, just let it go.” And as much as he wants to let Ricky go to town on Williams, or better yet get a few swings in himself, he's right about this. He knows he is. And he made a promise.

But apparently, Williams just doesn't know when to quit. He skates even closer and gets up in Jack’s face, so close that Jack can see the fog on his helmet. He smiles harshly and leans in close to whisper, “If you don't want to throw down, bring him out here. You can watch me fuck him up instead.”

Jack freezes, the bones in his hand cracking on Ricky’s arm as he clamps down. Time doesn't stop, the world doesn't go silent, and Williams backs away with a victorious smirk.

Ricky probably didn't hear what Williams said, but the look on Jack’s face must be enough for him to know how bad it was. He rips off his gloves with fire in his eyes, growling. “Alright Williams, you asked for it.”

“Don't.” Jack says it quietly, but firmly. “This is my problem.” He silences Ricky’s protest with a glance and looks back up at Bitty. The blond looks nervous, as does everyone around him, actually. Ricky and his gloves have attracted the attention of the team, the coaches, the refs, and the crowd. Williams loses his nerve and skates off, aware of the eyes on him. Jack knows he should probably feel angry, and he does, but he's also calm. He's never been one to fly into a rage without thinking, and he's not going to start now. But he looks at Bitty, and hears Williams’ threats bouncing around in his head, and this isn't a good decision but this time that will have to be enough. That he knows.

“I'm sorry,” he tells Bitty, though he knows his boyfriend can't hear him. He can read his lips, he's sure. He skates past Ricky and crosses the ice. He hears voices calling his name, rising in volume and intensity, but he tunes them out. He's busy composing an apology to George and the PR team.

He's halfway to Williams when he wrestles his first glove off. The second comes soon after. Williams doesn't even see him; he's too busy telling his teammate what just happened. It's frighteningly easy for Jack to rip off his helmet, spin him around, and ram his fist into Williams’ shocked face.

The other man crumples from the impact, going down without a sound. Jack catches him by the collar and holds him to eye level. “Are you okay?” he asks, because some habits die hard.

“Fucking sonuva bitch!” Williams gasps. Blood spurts from his nose and his left eye won't open.

“Good.” Jack draws him close and hisses through his teeth. “Because if you ever even look at Bittle again, you're going to _wish_ that a shiner is all I left you with.” And he drops him to the ice.

“Zimmermann!” A referee barks. His face is brick red and he sounds furious as he approaches. “That’s game and match, buddy. Out!” Two other officials hover behind him, watching in case they need to escort Jack away.

But Jack smiles serenely, says “Yes, sir” in a way that would make Bitty proud, and picks up his gloves on the way off the ice. Bitty is on his feet, one hand pressed to his mouth in horror, and Jack knows they're going to have to talk about this but for now he just puts a hand over his heart and ducks his head as he bows out through the tunnel.

He waits out the rest of the match by taking his time in the shower, trying to let the hot water ground him back to reality. It doesn’t work. He's still dressed by the time the game ends and at the first sound of voices in the hall he sneaks out to find Bitty.

As Jack should’ve guessed, Bitty is hanging back with Ricky near the edge of the ice, both gesticulating wildly as they discuss the evening’s events. “Why did you let him _go_?” Bitty shrieks. “You coulda stopped him, I know you could!”

“You wanted me to get in front of that punch? Bits, I love you, but I am just a man. I have limits.”

“Oh, he's gonna be in so much trouble!” Bitty wrings his hands worriedly. His lower lip is an angry red from nervous biting, and Jack doesn't know why _that’s_ what finally grounds him but it is.

He steps forward and waves to get their attention. “Bittle. Rick.”

Their eyes snap to him, and Bitty’s hands fall to his sides. “Jack.”

“Zimms,” Ricky starts sternly. “That was completely unnecessary-”

“He's got fifty pounds on you, you reckless, irresponsible-!”

“-but also exactly what I wish I’d done,” Ricky admits.

“I cannot believe you!” Bitty throws himself at Jack and now he's crying, shit. Jack wishes he could regret what he did if only so he could apologize sincerely. “Jack, honey, you promised me you'd let someone else handle it when people started talkin’ smack ‘bout ya!”

Jack hugs him close to his chest, taking the chastising for what it is- relief that everything is okay. That Jack’s okay. It's how Bitty gets over his panic, and Jack’s used to it by now. The aggressive southernism will peter out soon enough and then they can really talk about it.

“Seriously though, Jack. We could have gotten him for unsportsmanlike conduct.” Ricky tries, once again, to sound disapproving. He doesn't completely fail, but it's a close thing. “I can't really blame you, but I think you know that you could've solved it another way.”

“I know,” Jack agrees. He sets his chin on top of Bitty's head so he can talk to Ricky without letting go. “It wasn't like I blacked out when I hit him, Rick. That was my decision.”

Bitty draws back to look at him, the tears that didn't make it to Jack’s shirt clinging to his cheeks. “But you were doing so well with it before. What on earth did he _say_ to you?”

Jack’s breath hitches in his throat and he gives Ricky a helpless look. He’d assumed- he’d hoped Ricky would have at least gotten part of it out of the way. But maybe this is better, Jack realizes. This is going to be hard enough to talk to Bitty about. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he had to say it in front of anyone else.

Ricky, for his part, seems to understand his feelings, because he sighs and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll go do damage control with the team and the press, but I expect you to talk to the coaches and PR tomorrow. Deal?”

“Deal.” Jack smiles, but it feels more like a grimace. “I owe you, Rick.”

“No, man. No you don’t. Take care getting back to the hotel, guys. And Bits?”

“Yeah?”

Ricky smiles and shoots him a thumbs up. “Don’t let him sock anyone else before you get him to talk it out.”

It’s a little too soon for a joke and they all know it, but they laugh anyway and wave Ricky through the tunnel. In ten minutes they’re in a taxi, and since they missed the post-game traffic it only takes them fifteen more to get to the hotel the team is staying in. Jack is suddenly relieved that he sprung for his own suite with Bitty, because the hallway the rest of the team is staying on is crawling with reporters and fans when they pass it, caps pulled down low over their faces.

“Vultures,” Bitty mutters under his breath, and Jack hums in agreement. It’s the first thing Bitty’s said since they left Ricky, the majority of their cab ride filled with silence. Bitty digs in his pocket for a key card and swipes it before quickly ushering the both of them inside.

The moment the door clicks shut behind them, Jack’s shoulders slump and he leans heavily against the wall, breathing hard.

“Jack?” Bitty places a cool hand on his cheek, looking up at him with concern.

“Sorry,” Jack gasps. “Need- I need to-”

“Oh, baby, c’mere…”

Jack follows gratefully as Bitty leads him to the closest bed, setting him down on the edge and gripping his shoulder once before disappearing into the bathroom. He returns with a glass full of water that he presses into Jack’s hand. He sits by him and waits, hand on his knee. Jack slows his breathing with a great deal of effort and slowly begins to sip at the water in his hand. This hasn’t happened in a while, but he’s grateful that both he and Bitty remember how to make it better.

Bitty seems to intuit the second Jack can function again. He gently takes the glass from Jack and sets it on the nightstand before giving him his full attention. “You good, darlin’?”

Jack nods. “Yeah. Good. Thanks.”

“‘Swhat I’m here for.” Bitty leans into him just a touch. “Before we say anything else though, I want you to know I’m not mad. I know I probably sounded it earlier, but I’m not. That was the worry talking.”

Again, Jack nods, this time with a small but genuine smile. “I figured.”

“And really, you- I mean I know it’s been a lot, anyone would hit back eventually, especially against that Williams. I couldn’t even hear what he was saying to you all night but I was this close to hopping the glass and going after him myself!”

That almost makes Jack laugh, this image of his average-height-but-still-small-for-hockey boyfriend beating the pulp out of Williams out on the ice while he looks on with pride. But is also brings back Williams’ words and he has to swallow a growl. He puts his hand over Bitty’s on his knee and squeezes hard.

Bitty waits until Jack’s hand relaxes before taking a deep breath. “Tell me what happened.”

Jack doesn’t want to. He never wants Bitty to know the awful things that anyone says, and this is by far the worst anyone has said to his face. It’s why he fights tooth and nail to keep Bitty away from the presses, it’s why he’s skated through the pain of the words that hit him like slaps to the face and punches to the stomach.

But this directly concerns Bitty, and he deserves to know. So Jack takes a deep breath of his own and tells him. His memory is faulty on a few of the more creative shots, and there was a pop culture reference that he didn’t get thrown in there somewhere, but he starts at the faceoff and keeps going until he gets to the part where the ice was damaged.

Bitty taps his leg here, asking permission to interrupt, and Jack opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. “Jack, I don’t mean to sound like I’m about to sound, but this all sounds pretty normal. Was it just that he wouldn’t quit? I know ignoring him wasn’t gonna make it go away, but if you didn’t fly off the handle then why did you just decide to haul off and hit him from halfway across the ice?”

“He started talking about you,” Jack says softly.

Bitty goes completely still. “Excuse me?”

“He- he said-” Jack struggles to piece the words together, as they keep jumbling in his head. “Well first he called you our mascot. Said you looked like a twelve year old.” He pauses, looking down at Bitty for a reaction.

Bitty says nothing. Jack keeps going.

“Then he started- said being around you made us more likely to ‘take it’ instead of fighting. Like not taking insults, but-”

“I understand,” Bitty interjects, his face for once unreadable. “Keep going.”

“He called us names,” Jack continues. “And then he got really close and said-” He chokes on his breath and has to take a minute. He doesn’t want to say it. Maybe he can’t. He thought he could but he’s been wrong before, so wrong, about what he can and can’t do, and all at once those old times come rushing to the forefront of his mind and his breathing picks up again and oh no, he’s felt this before but this time there are no pills to fix it, he’s-

Familiar, cool hands cradle his face and wipe away the scorching tears that are suddenly there, stroking gently. “Jack. Jack, baby, look at me.”

Jack does, and he knows in that moment that he must be in love because there has never been a more beautiful sight than this boy, watching him break down and still looking at him like he hung the moon. And what’s more, he’s there to pick him back up. Jack’s heart slows, then speeds up again for an entirely different reason than before.

“He said if we wouldn’t fight him, to bring you out so he could ‘fuck you up’ instead of me. As if I would just stand there and watch while he hurt you.” He hears his own voice through a heavy fog, but it’s even and he got all the words out and that’s what counts. He’s done.

Bitty’s face crumples and now he’s crying again too. “Jack, I’m sorry.”

Of all the things Jack thought Bitty would have to say about tonight, ‘sorry’ wasn’t at the very bottom. But it was close.

“What?” It’s all he can think to say. Because that doesn’t make sense, Jack is the one who’s supposed to be sorry. He broke his promise to Bitty, he disappointed his team and his parents and probably everyone in Providence. Why is Bitty sorry? He asks that, as he thinks it.

Bitty shakes his head with a teary laugh. “Sweetheart, you’ve been out there facing them down like a fucking champ. What have I been doing? Sitting on the sidelines cheering for you, sure, but we’re going about this all wrong.”

“We are?”

“Jack, you’re my boyfriend and I love you.” Bitty swipes his thumb over Jack’s cheek even though the tears are dry. “I’m supposed to do this with you, not sit back and ask you to ignore it. We’ve been doing good off the ice, but we’ve gotta work together on it, too. I want to be there when things like this happen, and I want to stand up for you the way you stood up for me tonight. Okay?”

The place in Jack’s chest that used to tighten up fills up with something he didn’t know the name of until he met Bitty, and he nods into Bitty’s hands. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. But this?” He gestures between them and hooks his hands around Bitty’s wrists, pressing a kiss to his open palm. “This is more than enough.”

For all that they’ve had more intimate conversations before, Bitty’s face lights up all the way to his hairline. “Lord, what am I going to do with you? Who would’ve thought Valentines would turn you into such a sap? You didn’t even ask the final score.”

“Chirping me again, Bittle?” Jack bumps their foreheads together. “I’m hurt. I happen to be a very sensitive individual.”

Bitty smiles at the old, routine joke. “A delicate coral reef?”

“Extremely delicate,” Jack agrees, then smirks. “Promise to keep me balanced?”

He says it lightly, but from the way Bitty’s mouth drops open just a bit, Jack thinks that his intent gets across. Bitty doesn’t say anything else, but his kiss is as good as any promise.

And this one, Jack knows, can be kept.

[Original Post on Tumblr](http://starringmeacomplicatedlovestory.tumblr.com/post/141675440402/so-i-believe-its-been-said-jack-isnt-really-much)

**Author's Note:**

> Now I know there are some differences from the original post, but after some reading I determined that the excessive force Jack displayed would prompt not a major penalty, but a match penalty, thus removing him from the game. That being said I have very little practical hockey knowledge so if that is wrong then please forgive me.
> 
> This took a different turn at the end without me even really realizing it until it was done. Jack and Bitty's kisses here are all promises, and I may have just realized that their kiss in the comic was, too. And now I've gone and made myself emotional. I hope y'all are happy.


End file.
